65 point 6 degrees
by emmasfairytale
Summary: Killian and Emma are spending the night together for the first time. As he puts the finishing touches on what he hopes will be the perfect night, he has never been more nervous...


The room temperature was exactly 65.6 degrees.

Killian watched the minutes count up, but it felt more like they were counting down. As a pirate in the Enchanted Forest and even here in Storybrooke, he'd felt more than his fair share of flutters in his chest. But there was nothing that compared to what he felt now.

It was…

It was like he wanted something, wanted it a _lot,_ wanted it so bad that it made his heart keen with longing. But at the same time, he was completely and utterly terrified of it.

Thirty minutes. He rushed to the bed one more time. One of the edges of the cover was folded over; he smoothed it out. The pillow covers were tinged pale yellow, and the bedspread was maroon. It didn't match. He switched the covers out. The sheets were soft, but he knew they could be softer. He remade the bed.

Twenty-five minutes. He checked the the thermostat again. 65.6 degrees. He took one deep breath, tried to even out the knots constricting in his stomach. What was the worst that could happen?

Twenty minutes. David opened the door, tripping over plastic grocery bags. Killian rushed to the door, split the load between the two of them, and helped him sort everything into the pantry and fridge. David told him that it was getting late. He gestured to the sun sinking low in the sky, to the hues of purple and pink and orange painting the night. Killian nodded. He knew. He'd been watching the daylight wane for the thirty minutes before this thirty minutes began. David chuckled and, for the first time, looked at Killian. The instant he saw his face, he knew. He leaned down and spoke in a gentle tone, just above a whisper.

"We'll be back in the morning. Both of us." Killian nodded, turned away.

David continued. "And Killian? It will be everything."

It was a simple way of putting it, but somehow exactly what he needed. David raised an eyebrow. "But remember, if it isn't, you'll be answering to me tomorrow."

David grabbed his things and slipped out the door.

Thirteen minutes.

Killian fiddled with the light switch. It was getting dark, so it might hurt her eyes if the lights were too bright when she walked in. But he shouldn't set them too dark - it was dim outside, so she might not be able to see if he set them too low. He slid the dial down until it was right in the middle. Not too much light, but not too little either. This should be fine.

Ten minutes. He surveyed the room. It looked too… normal. Maybe she would expect something a little fancier? He swiped a candle from Snow's cabinet - he didn't think she would mind. He sifted through five or six scents before he settled on a light yellow candle, unlit. Digging the lighter out of the kitchen drawer, he watched as a weak flame warbled in the dim light. One seemed a little lonely, so he added another. He set them side by side on the countertop just next to the bed. Two candles could keep each other company.

Four minutes. Panic bubbled in his gut, and a red-hot fire began burning in his veins. This could go wrong in a countless amount of ways. Maybe she didn't like the sheets he'd chosen. Maybe she had somewhere to go tomorrow and didn't want to sleep in. Maybe she wasn't coming. Maybe…

One last deep breath. There were a lot of things that could go wrong about tonight. But what was one thing he knew would not go wrong, that he was confident in no matter how many candles he lit?

He knew he loved her. And he knew she loved him back. That was all he needed to know. It was why he was doing this, it was why David and Snow were spending the night somewhere else in town, and it was why she had agreed to come back to the loft instead of working late at the sheriff's station. Even if the pillows were too stiff, if he fell off the bed, if he didn't sleep a wink, he'd do it all again if it meant it made her happy.

One minute. He heard footsteps approaching from the stairs below him. He felt the anxiety pooling in his gut, but he stuffed it away. One last time, he peered over at the thermostat. 65.6 degrees. He was ready.

He watched the minute hand approach the twelve just as the door swung open. Her eyes swept the room but immediately found his. A shy smile crept across her face. "Hey, you."

The unexplainably blissful grin that spilled out of him wasn't something he could control. Killian was drawn to her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered - and at this moment, she was. His fingers laced into hers and he planted a feathery kiss on her forehead. She laughed. "Okay, I'm ready, just let me change." Emma vanished into her room and returned wearing a pair of baby pink pajamas. Her hair was loose and tumbled down her side in ringlets of gold. She tilted her head towards the candles. "Nice touch."

As he led her to the bed, pulled back the covers so she could get in, tucked her in tight, as he made his way around the bed onto his side, his eyes wandered to the thermostat one last time. He smiled to himself as he read the temperature. 65.6 degrees.

65.6 degrees. The temperature that he'd chosen after planning this for weeks. After adjusting the temperature in her room slightly every night, then asking her how she'd slept, to find out when she was most comfortable. After asking Henry to help him average the numbers together and choose the setting that would make sure she slept the best. After planning and picking and choosing and worrying and doubting, but ultimately knowing. Knowing that there was nothing he could do or would do to change this moment. Everything he wanted was already here.

He slipped into the bed, felt her body loosen next to him. He wrapped his leg around hers and pulled her closer, felt her hair spill over onto his cheeks as his lips met hers and the sun gave way to the quiet glow of the moon. She sighed contentedly, tucked her head into the crook between his neck and his shoulder. The instant she found the perfect spot and closed her eyes, he knew. He knew because he felt all the tension in his body evaporate, replaced by not longing or wanting, but peace. Peace, because he knew that no amount of painstaking preparation could have prepared him for this - for _her_. He breathed her in, smelt the candle scents intertwining with everything that was _her,_ felt the knots unravel, and closed his eyes.

In hundreds of years of life, he never slept better than he did that night.


End file.
